World So Cold
by theriddlerwrites
Summary: Second person one-shot written originally as a piece of O/W coursework for my English Lit GCSE. Addressing the reader as if they were Ralph. Inspired by the 12 Stones song World So Cold  Full summary within.


Okay, so our assignment was to write a third person account of what happened to the LotF boys when they reached England after their ordeal so, naturally, I wrote a second person piece about the ride in the boat to the ship. Somehow, it got full marks despite being _nothing like_ the actual assignment. Seriously, my teacher was raving about it and made me read it out. It was embarrassing as hell. Now said embarrassment has wound down, I thought it would be nice to share it with the internet! It's based on the 12 Stones song World So Cold, which is why there's a couple of the lyrics slipped in where I thought appropriate. Also, I didn't want to write this as I already had an A* piece to submit so this was kind of wasting my time, so I put in the occasional Nightwish lyric to see if my teacher noticed. She didn't. It was written with Ralph in mind, and I know full well it's a bit ... well, existential. It was a tad difficult to get into the mind of a twelve year old boy when you're a sixteen year old girl, so I kind of thought stuff it, and wrote this. I hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters, they belong to William Golding. I also do not make any money from this. I DO, however, own the words. (Those that aren't lyrics, anyway.) Any lyrics included belong to Tuomas Holopainen or 12 Stones.

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><p>You're alone in your head, with the echoes of life drifting around you: the meaningless words of the first grown up you've seen in months; the seabirds revelling in the skies in the skies above; the dying crackle from the island you destroyed. You're paralysed by emotion, moved only by the steady pitch and roll of the waves below. Watching the horizon blacken with the never ending curl of smoke, the fire reaching up into the sky with tendrils of flame, your entire being weeps for the ruin you're leaving behind. The time of beauty will never be the same, but this is not the end. After the burning landscape of death you have crossed alone, hunted, the path goes ever on, disappearing into the distance, and you're scared. Terrified. What else can you do now? You're not a boy, and yet you're not a man. You're broken; surrounded by mirrors of your sins, the dying souls of mankind, boys who will never truly be men. A stain covers your heart as you wonder: did you create this? You self consciously wipe your cheeks; streaked with dirt and blood and tears wept upon promises undone and the loss of a friend. You're going home now.<p>

Your eyes rest, for the briefest moment, on Jack. He refuses to look at anyone now, let alone you, and you don't really know what you would do if he met your gaze. You're not sure what to feel. Anger? Betrayal? Sadness? _Guilt? _You can see the last lines of humanity etched on his painted face: the marring of pain and sorrow, but he's lost now. Just another empty beast.

There's a low hum of whispers between the little ones, interrupted by the occasional sobbing outburst. As you draw ever closer to society, their hazy memories are trickling back. Grown-ups, school, houses, roads, cars... it's all coming back to them, gradually overwriting the horrors of the previous months. But your memories never left you in the first place, and heading back is plaguing you with a sense of pain rather than pleasure. Your experiences have tainted you, changed you, and you're not ready to face the consequences. Not yet.

You keep quiet, your eyes still on the island and your mind still shrouded in darkness. You have no words to say. Tonight and always, you will remember what you did; what you all did, and wish you'd had the strength to stop. Wish that it all turned out differently. That the three deaths that scar your souls were just pretend. Have you no heart?

You can feel the ocean below you, but the sea has lost its magic now. You're starting to feel the loss that will follow you forever. Not the loss of another, but the part of yourself you left behind that day the plane came down. The boy with a spark in his eye. He's nothing but empty shell now, ravaged by time and experience beyond his years. You drag your gaze from the island, and look ahead. Your eyes lock with Jack's stare, reflecting the melancholy in both your hearts.

The prey and the hunter.

This moment is eternity. When the story of the island is long forgotten, you will still know that you all witnessed the fall of man; the ephemeral joys of childhood shattered by suffering. And now you're left to wonder when the world became so cold.

Sick to your stomach, you break the tenuous connection between yourself and the hunter, and turn back to the haunted waters, trying to lose yourself in your thoughts. It's not the same any more. You still have problems understanding the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings triggered by the past few weeks, and you know in the deepest recesses of your soul that these wounds won't ever fully heal. You can only hope that one day you accept it and forgive yourself enough to become human again.

Human again. Now wouldn't that be something?

But you still can't bring yourself to believe that men are born to be killers. War and death and suffering cannot be the only answers.

After all this, you still refuse to believe this world can't be saved.

You're just an innocent child with a thorn in his heart.


End file.
